Nine

I knew several lawyers. The problem was most of them worked with Cynthia and the Cherry Foundation. It probably wouldn’t do to have one of them represent me since the heir apparent Maxwell was the murder victim. They weren’t my only option … unfortunately.

Still standing behind my desk, I slipped my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and scrolled through my contacts until I came to a name I didn’t want to call.

“Hu-llo?” a groggy voice answered.

“Good morning, Justin,” I said cheerily.

“Who’s this?”

“Kelsey, your former sister-in-law. Are you awake?”

“No.” The response was muffled, like it was spoken into a pillow.

“Well, wake up! I have a situation, and I need you at Barton Farm pronto.”

There was some indecipherable mumbling on the other end of the line.

“Justin!”

“What?” he yelped. “I think you busted my eardrum.”

“Too bad. I need your lawyer self to come here. I have a bad situation. Someone has died on the Farm. I need legal counsel.”

Sounding more awake, he said, “Legal counsel? Doesn’t the Cherry Foundation have an army of lawyers? Call one of them.”

“I can’t. The situation is—” I searched for the right word. “Sensitive.”

“I’d think the Cherry Foundation lawyers would be all ready for sensitive situations. Call one of them for help. I’m tired.”

“Justin, wait! Don’t hang up. I can’t call the Foundation lawyers because Maxwell Cherry is dead.”

“What?” he cried sounding wide awake. “Maxwell Cherry? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“I wish.” I leaned against the edge of my desk.

“What happened?”

“He was murdered,” I said.

He swore. “Why are you calling me? This is a little out of my realm. I’m in environmental law.” There was rustling sound over the phone like Justin was trying to untangle himself from his bed sheets.

“I realize that,” I said, “but you’re all I have right now. And I need a lawyer ASAP. The detective on the case thinks I did it.”

The battle with the bed sheets stopped. “What? Why?”

I went on to give him the short version of the circumstances surrounding Maxwell’s death.

He swallowed. “What’s your alibi?”

I told him the same thing that I had told the chief and the detective just a few minutes ago.

Justin nodded. “That sounds like a decent alibi.”

“Gee thanks.” I drummed my fingers on the desk.

“You should be all right if your father can vouch for you being there.”

“I could have left the cabin in the middle of the night without him knowing. His room isn’t by the front door.”

“I suggest that you not share that with the police.”

“Right.” I began to pace.

“Kel, I can’t. I have a tennis match today and—”

“Justin Cambridge, you will get your behind out to Barton Farm right now, unless you want me to tell your mother what really happened to her precious Tiffany lamp.”

He groaned. “All right, all right, Kel. You don’t have to be so harsh. I don’t know what I’ll be able to do for you. I just barely passed the bar last month. I hope you don’t expect much.”

I didn’t, and I was doomed.

I slid my phone back into my pocket as I walked down the short hallway from my office to the visitor center’s main lobby. I checked my watch; it was a few minutes after eight. The good news was that the Farm didn’t open until ten. That gave me two hours to do damage control.

Judy came out of the gift shop with Tiffin close at her heels. “We have everything in order for the discounted tickets for today’s reenactment. Don’t you worry about that.”

I made a note in my ever-present notebook. “Thanks, Judy. I knew that I could count on you.”

She gripped her hands in front of her. “Yes, well, one problem solved, another shows up.”

“What happened?” My pen was poised to take notes.

She grimaced. “Shepley.”

Her one word answer was enough. My irate gardener was always a problem. “What is it this time?”

She pursed her lips. “He’s throwing a fit because he can’t get to his gardens.”

I could imagine. “Why wasn’t I radioed?”

She shrugged. “Whoever reported it telephoned the gift shop, and I didn’t want to interrupt you while you were in your office with the police. I told Ashland, who just got here, to take care of it.”

“I’d better get over there. Shepley will eat Ashland for breakfast.” I tucked the notebook into my back pocket and straightened my polo shirt.

Judy reached over to squeeze my hand. “Everything will get straightened out, Kelsey. You’ll see. This will all be a bad memory soon.”

If only I could believe her. I gave her a weak smile as I snapped on Tiffin’s leash. We left the visitor center through the employee entrance beside the gift shop.

Outside, the sun was fully up now. Most of the reenactors sat outside their tents, tucking into breakfast and polishing the barrels of their rifles or bayonets for the upcoming battle. Others shaved in cloudy mirrors tacked on the trees or propped on makeshift tables. The men shaving used straight razors. I had to respect their commitment to stay in character, as that shaving looked dangerous.

“Mom!” Hayden cried as he ran out of the Union camp. “I met Santa Claus!”

Santa Claus? I didn’t remember Santa registering. Then my father walked out of the camp followed by the Walt Whitman reenactor. I chuckled. With his full white beard and round tummy, the reenactor did indeed have a remarkable resemblance to Santa.

“Hayden, that’s Walt Whitman, not Santa. He’s a poet.”

My son furrowed his brow. “He said that he was Santa too.”

The reenactor smiled. “At Christmastime, I have been known to pitch in at Santa’s workshop at the mall.”

“Ahh,” I said.

“I had a very nice time talking to you, Roy,” he said to my father. “I’m happy to practice lines with you whenever you like. I don’t have much stomach for the battles. Being a nurse during this terrible war can be so disheartening. The boys coming into the hospital are in a bad shape. It would be nice to worry over Shakespeare’s timeless poetry as an escape.”

Dad grinned. “I’ll stop by your tent later today.”

“Very good.” Walt tipped his hat and went on his way.

I handed Dad Tiffin’s leash. “Can you take Tiff for me?”

My corgi gave me a pouty face, but I couldn’t be worrying about my dog while I spoke with Shepley. Dad took the leash from my hand, and Hayden dropped to his knees hug the dog. The pair rolled in the dirt.

“Are you going to tell me why the police are here?” my father asked quietly.

“There’s been an accident.”

“I’ve heard that from everyone in the encampment, but no one really knows what is going on other than that they aren’t supposed to cross the road into the village.”

“Maxwell Cherry is dead. He died in the brick pit.”

Dad gasped.

“Shh, you’ll attract attention,” I said, pointing to Hayden and Tiffin still locked in a boy/dog bear hug.

“Mr. Renard?” a voice said behind me on the path.

I turned to find young Officer Sonders, who was first to arrive on the scene.

My father wiggled his bushy eyebrows. “Yes?”

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

My father straightened to his full height. That wasn’t too impressive at five-five, but his booming voice more than made up for his lack a stature. “What does this concern?”

Officer Sonders appeared a little taken aback by my father’s reaction. “Well, I … the chief asked me to ask you a few questions about Mr. Cherry.”

Dad placed a finger to his chest. “What would I know about Mr. Cherry?”

“Dad,” I pleaded. “Just answer his questions.”

My father’s theatrics had grabbed Hayden’s attention, and he was no longer rolling in the dirt with Tiffin. “Why do the police want to talk to Pop-Pop?”

I screwed up my face.

“Pop-Pop, did you steal a car? Dad told me you stole a car once.”

My face turned bright red, but my father was unfazed by his grandson’s question. “Your father shouldn’t have told you that. However, I’ll tell you the entire story when you’re old enough to drive yourself. At that time, you’ll see that my little indiscretion was completely justified.”

A headache began to form on the right side of my temple.

Officer Sonders swallowed. “Is there somewhere we can do talk, Mr. Renard?”

“I suppose so. We can go to the cott—”

“No,” I said a little too quickly, but I didn’t want any police inside my cottage until Justin arrived. “Use my office. It’s just inside of the visitor center there. It’s unlocked, just walk in.”

Officer Sonders frowned. I knew that he would report back to the police chief that I didn’t want him in my cottage. I’d just made myself more suspicious, but I planned to protect my home and privacy from this investigation as long as I could, even if it was an act of futility.

“Hayden, why don’t you and Tiffin go into the visitor center and hang out with Judy?” I said.

“Okay,” my son said. Judy carried Jolly Ranchers in her skirt pockets, and Hayden knew that.

After I released Hayden and Tiffin into Judy’s capable hands, I continued on my way to Shepley’s gardens. I hoped that the scene hadn’t become much worse since I had been delayed so long. I tried not to think about the conversation Dad and Officer Sonders were having in my office. Was it a good thing or a bad thing that I didn’t get a chance to tell Dad about the insulin? At least now he would act genuinely surprised when he heard the news—but he was an actor, and the police knew that. Would they believe his reaction even if it was real?